


sotto voce

by psalloacappella



Series: fix me with your grace [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Blank Period, Confessions, F/M, Hair Washing, SSBlankPeriod2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29016267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psalloacappella/pseuds/psalloacappella
Summary: Could he tell her that when she lays her hands on him, touches his scalp that tender way in which she unravels his hair soaked with salt and sweat and travels, he finds himself catching his breath? One of the few times his limbs find the level and tranquilize, luxuriate in the chillbumps that sweep from the base of his neck down the spine?That he’s considered lifetimes in scattered astronomy-dimensions in which all they do is this?❦For #SSBlankPeriod2021Day 3 Prompt(s): Confession // "I'll choose you every day."
Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke
Series: fix me with your grace [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2125785
Comments: 12
Kudos: 74





	sotto voce

❦

Life on the road, at the very least, is never bereft of amusement nor lacking in a certain charm. 

And though Sasuke’s not sure what tune has so enamored his companion, he welcomes the shift in mood as he continues to work diligently through the knots in her hair, easing through the sticky snags and tangles with a single talented hand.

Sighing to himself, as of course it would be easier with two, and he’s sure he’s tweaked her here, yanked her there on accident despite his attentiveness. Since losing a part of him in this way he’s refused to resolve it in strict penance; he aims for recompense by redoubling his gallantry, a thing that so long ago would have seemed to teeter on the edge of absurdity.

Sasuke considers it forgiveness; Sakura calls it love.

“Ooh!” When she winces, he pulls back. Few aspects of life make him cautious, but causing undue pain might be the foremost. It’s not something he wants to do anymore.

He sighs, carding his hand through his own mussed hair as she resumes a low hum, in melodic flow with buzzing insects and the babbling river and other woodland universe sounds.

“It’s okay,” she says, shaking out her hair and combing her own fingers through it. “After all,  _ you  _ didn’t upend the entire cask on me.” Taking a lock of plum-stained hair between her thumb and forefinger, she giggles. “At least thieves get what they deserve.”

Fermenting scents of grapes and other fleeting terroir aspects — she had been making a game out of guessing its origins as they tramped through the forest seeking a way to wash out the wine. 

Some thieves they stumbled on when passing through. Of all the things they agree upon, mundane or serious, harassment of civilians is a pressure point for them, a sensitive and present wound. Trying to  _ liberate _ traders of their wares, and in the scuffle, Sakura took the liquid brunt of an exploding cask of wine. Turns out her hair, wild and long, can hold multitudes.

“The smell, at least, is not unpleasant,” Sasuke says, continuing to work through knots. She’ll need a rinse soon. Though it’d be easier if she simply went into the river, neither of them have the clothes to spare for that, so the only alternative is . . .

Well.

So, kneeling behind her as she splashes her feet in the water, humming, swaying a bit to the beat of her unknown maestro: washing is their task this scorching afternoon.

“Rinse,” is all he says, nudging her arm. Covering her eyes, she leans back a little so he can pour water from a bucket, running it through her pink locks until the excess runs a little less plum. 

“Thank you, by the way.” Still covering her eyes, but the lilt of a smile decorates her tone. “You really don’t need to labor at this so long. We can find a place to stop eventually.”

Sasuke simply makes a noncommittal noise. “Fruit scents attract insects, and other animals.”

“Sure,” she responds, tone teasing. “That’s the only reason.”

“Hmm.”

“I think you’re trying to prove your usefulness. Your kindness and care.”

Sasuke frowns. 

Could he tell her that when she lays her hands on him, touches his scalp, the tender way in which she unravels his own hair soaked with salt and sweat and travels, he finds himself catching his breath? One of the few times his limbs find the level and tranquilize, luxuriate in the chillbumps that sweep from the scalp down the spine? 

That he’s considered lifetimes in scattered astronomy-dimensions in which all they do is this?

Methodical yet loving, an intimate thing too esoteric and evading worldly explanation. A comfort undeniable, and always reminding him of the mere morsels of tenderness he offers in return.

Though she can protect herself, perfectly capable of handling bandits herself, why is his instinct to protect furious, swift, almost a madness? 

It comes simply, so obvious: 

_ Because I need you.  _

“What?”

“ . . . What?”

Sasuke curses — he almost certainly said that out loud.

This happens too often now, his words slipping out easily around her, in all those moments when his feet don’t feel so firmly planted on the earth, when sleep finally arrives and softens his guard. 

She’s tense beneath his hand, watching him in profile over her shoulder.

“Nothing.”

“Uchiha Sasuke — scares the life out of road bandits, styles his sweetheart's hair in his free time. Confesses secrets in forests.”

There’s heat in his face, simmering to the surface of his skin. As if it isn’t blazing out here already. Damn. And her, teasing him? “Sakura, please. Hygiene is practical.”

“I know you care. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. Or rather, I wouldn’t be here with you.”

Despite her bravado, the skin showing between her shirt and scalp is pinker than her hair. 

She opens her mouth and inhales as if to speak, but seems to deflate, unsure of how to proceed. 

The pause feels delicate, fragile.

“I know I sort of . . . insisted to come with you.” Voice halting, stepping around unseen land mines. “Maybe I — I’m not sure if this is what you wanted. How you yearned to spend your days.” Sheepishly tucks stray, damp hair behind her ear. 

He watches her back, sees her squirm in discomfort as she waits for his response.

The wait is so long, too long, and she’s crumbling underneath the weight of his silence. 

When he finally speaks, it’s a little strangled, a scant vibrato and stirred.

“If this is what this life, after everything I’ve done, has granted me . . . then I choose this,” and he reaches forward, feels her soft, damp locks underneath his fingers, “every day.”

She pulls her feet out of the river water, hugging her legs. Hiding her face. Saying his name in undertone, exasperated and touched. It's usually him turning his back to love; the vulnerable secrets in his mind slipping again from his discipline and bleeding into reality, 

_ Turn around.  _

But she continues to sit rigid on the riverbank, raising her head in the manner of a shipwrecked castaway with eyes and soul fixed on the savior ship, the sea. 

“But if I move — this moment could disappear.”

“Sakura,” he says, closing the gap between them, securing her with an arm around the waist and pressing his mouth to her hair. Poetics elude him, as always, but it's nothing but the simple truth to say, 

“I’ll choose you every day.”

(And could she tell him, don’t worry, these sobs are only heady joy, fervent and free?)

(Tang — that her tears taste of something like delight?)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the SSBlankPeriod2021 series, which is going on this week. Def peep that hashtag for sweet, sweet content from our talented fandom! Drop by, say hi!
> 
> also I'm up too late, must sleep 💤


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